Two Renegade Realms (Realm Walkers Book 2) (27 page)

GATHERING FORCES

C
ho sat on the porch beside Bixby. His elaborate robes didn’t blend as well with the rustic background as had his pants and plaid shirts.

The cloth of the sleeveless tunic shimmered with each movement. Up close, Bixby could see tiny circles of reflective metal scattered in the weave of the fabric. The bits near the hem lay in a pattern of waves.

Underneath this long outer garment, Cho wore a robe that at first glance looked to be a solid blue. But as Bixby watched, the blues faded and swirled, mixed and flowed with iridescent shades of green and purple. The same material on the sleeves held audacious hues, and the shimmer was more pronounced.

In spite of the fantastic garb, when Cho smiled, he looked like Old Trout, but in fancy duds. “What’s your hamper’s resource?”

“Injury and illness, sir.”

“Is it well stocked?”

Bixby furrowed her brow and pressed her lips together as she reached in to locate a certain bottle. “Some of the items are very old. I don’t recognize them.”

Shaking her head so that her white-blonde curls bobbed and swayed, she handed Cho a small brown bottle with a cork stopper. “This one says oil of Prahlay. I’ve never heard of it. Have you? Do you know what it’s for?”

Chomountain turned the bottle around in his hand, examining all sides. “Prahlay comes from flower nectar found in the tropical fields of Richra. Most probably, it’s a remedy for something of tropical origin. A rash, a bite, something hard to digest but tempting in appearance.”

“I’m from Richra. We have two bands of tropical terrain. I should know this.”

Cho leaned back on his arms. “Now, don’t be so hard on yourself. You didn’t spend much of your time on Richra as you grew up. A couple of weeks from time to time, between your jaunts off to learn from another wise man interested in yet a different spectrum of truth.”

“You know about that?”

“I do.”

“Do you know why I was originally sent out? What my father asked me to do?”

Cho pursed his lips and looked at white clouds billowing in the eastern blue sky. They grew rapidly and overflowed the horizon, spreading toward the west. “I know you have a mission, but I wasn’t told what it is.”

“Oh.” Bixby followed his gaze and watched the quickly changing tabloid of white and gray clouds. Puffed up and clinging to each other, they darkened.

“Storm coming.” Chomountain stood. “If you need help for your task, you can ask. I won’t interfere unless you want my aid.” He paused, studying the clouds once more. “You have to ask.”

He gestured toward the animal shed. “I think I’ll visit with my old friends.” He sauntered off, his posture reminding Bixby of the fisherman, not the right hand of Primen.

Cantor stepped out of the cabin as if he’d been waiting for Chomountain to move on. He sat where the old man had been and plopped his hamper on the wooden slats of the porch floor.

Bixby flashed him a smile. “What’s in your bag?”

“Cooking and Cleaning. Pots, knives, sponges, soap, frying pan, mixing bowl, even a recipe book.”

“No staples like flour, sugar, beans, or coffee?”

Cantor shook his head. “Nope, but I have another hamper here. Dukmee would have taken this one, but he’s busy.”

She looked over her shoulder, listening for sounds from inside the cabin. Jesha purred near the open door, but other than that, the tiny building might have been empty. Yet she knew Neekoh and Bridger hadn’t come out the front door. They must have gone out the back way.

Cantor offered her the bag. “Shall we look inside?”

When she was slow to take it, Cantor opened the top, pulling the drawstrings loose. He held it out again, and she reached to plunge her hand inside. She jerked to a stop and squinted at her friend. “Did you put something nasty in there for me to grab?”

Cantor’s belly laugh surprised her. He was shaking his head, but the more he denied it, the harder he laughed.

“Humph! Cantor D’Ahma, you can examine the contents of that hamper yourself. I don’t trust you.”

Cantor sobered, wiped tears from his eyes, and forced his face to stop twitching with the inclination to fall back into hilarity.

Bixby watched his efforts, steeling herself against being duped. Acting would never be Cantor’s forte. His mischievous streak made a blatant lie of the pious expression he tried to stick to his face. He was a rough country boy playing true to his colors. He hadn’t grown up so much after all, even though he’d been away from his home for three years.

Probably a wet, stinky fish. Maybe a skunk tail. Old Trout had a number of animal pelts in various stages of tanning. A slithery grass snake? A cracked egg?

She leaned away from him as he reached into the bag.

He started to pull his hand out but stopped with his wrist even with the top of the hamper. “I really didn’t plant an ugly surprise, Bixby. You can trust me to treat you with respect.”

His carefully modulated voice convinced her of his insincerity. Her squint came back full force, and her lips pressed into a perfect line.

Cantor tucked his chin against his chest and looked dejected. Bixby’s heart softened. She doubted her certainty of his duplicity. She could be wrong about him. In fact, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d underestimated him or misconstrued his intent.

Her shoulders relaxed, as did the terrible scowl she’d held in place.

Cantor’s head whipped up. He roared. His arm appeared as fast as the flick of a whip. A shapeless brown object dangled from his hand. He thrust it into her face, and she screamed.

Cantor fell off the porch, laughing.

Bixby jumped down and stamped her foot on the hard-packed dirt. “Childish,” she raged. “Pure childishness. Wicked. Fiendish. Not childlike at all. Bully. That’s what you are. You’re nothing but a bully. Bully!” She kicked at the ground, aiming to shower dirt on his worthless hide as he rolled around, unable to control his laughter, gasping for air.

She flounced away from the cabin. They had to go together on this mission, but she wouldn’t be paired with him to do anything.

She’d thought he’d matured somewhat, even hoped he’d developed some tender feelings for her. They’d always had a special bond, could read each other’s minds as if they were speaking out loud. He was handsome and manly, and she could easily start thinking of him in terms of hero to her heroine.

“Phooey!” She clenched her fists. “What’s wrong with me?”

She stopped. Cantor had never disgusted her as much as he had just now. Never.

She turned around quickly and caught him watching her. He plastered a silly grin on his face . . . but not fast enough.

On purpose. So they wouldn’t be more than friends. Wary friends.

Cantor was smart. She did another about face. He must not see her expression. He’d know she’d figured out what was behind that silly stunt. He wanted to protect her.

But now she knew. He’d overreact if he knew her priority mission. If she needed to tell someone about the little job her father had given her, it would be Chomountain she would tell. Not Cantor.

Cantor watched Bixby enter the animal shed. A proper barn, really — long and low and filled with stalls and feed rooms, an animal infirmary, a tack room with more fishing tackle than tack, and a tannery. He’d discovered it was buildings that had been connected on to one another. So a string of sheds took up half the building with a door in the front and one in the back of each unit. Another part held a string of rooms connected to each other.

He dropped the woolly brown mitten back in the hamper of coldwear. He twitched for something to do. His emotions had set him on edge. A realm walker never lost compassion, but never succumbed to passion either. Emotional fervor inhibited thinking. Lack of control could get a realm walker killed . . . and the people he’d vowed to safeguard.

The best thing he could do for Bixby was treat her like a little sister. And that’s what he’d done. The prank sprang into play at the sight of her suspicious face. No premeditation, just an opportune answer to an awkward situation.

He knew he hadn’t frightened her. He’d seen her fight and knew within that frail body, hidden under yards of feminine frippery, a valiant heart drove Bixby to do courageous things. But he’d startled her. She hadn’t really expected him to be such a teaser.

Teasing was better than flirting. Flirting could get them killed.

He wouldn’t lie to himself. In the past few weeks, he’d found himself thinking about her in too many unguarded moments, fighting the urge to protect her — even from Chomountain’s gentle chastisement, watching her for the sheer pleasure of her dance-like moves.

But they would never dance together. He was more than
three feet taller than she was, and his thigh was probably bigger around than her waist. And more than that, her parents were king and queen of Richra. He didn’t know his parents, but the two elderly people who had raised him were peasants. There had been legendary realm walker couples, but very few, and none from such divergent backgrounds.

He stood and went into the dimly lit cabin to fetch another hamper.

He’d forgotten Dukmee and his mysterious sphere. When Dukmee leaned back in the only chair, Cantor jumped enough to bash his head on one of the low beams supporting the roof.

The mage came to his feet to offer Cantor his sympathy. “Here, sit on the bed. Let me look at that. It’s bleeding a little. You’ll have a goose egg in a bit.”

Cantor sat with his teeth clenched. He’d let the mage coddle him until the stars left his vision. Then he’d tell Dukmee to quit acting like an old woman.

“Old woman?” Dukmee laughed. “Your thought shield slipped there, my friend, and that came through loud and clear. You won’t consider me an old woman if you need a healer after battle.”

Cantor watched him pour a solution on a cloth and then felt him slap it on his small wound. He expected it to sting, but instead the cool, wet potion eased the pain.

He sucked in a breath and shot Dukmee a rueful smile. “Thank you.”

“So, sounds like you’re in a bit of trouble with our friend the princess. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll forgive you soon enough.” Dukmee sat in the chair, picked up the globe, and tossed it from hand to hand.

“Should you be doing that?”

Dukmee grinned. “It’s unbreakable. I’ve already dropped it. Well, it rolled off the table while I was getting a drink. Since it didn’t shatter when it hit the floor, I hammered it with the fire poker.”

“Naturally.” He didn’t think he would have beat something that valuable. “At least it’s one less worry. When the guild soldiers swoop down to capture you, we only need keep your skin intact and not protect a fragile orb.” Cantor shifted the pad on his head, off center a bit, to where the flesh still tingled. “Have you discovered something to help us?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

“Well?”

“The founders of the society that populated the ruins liked to make things complicated. Rather, they believed that obscuring information and making it hard to find protected it from their enemies. Therefore, they didn’t just write the book. They wrote the book, hid the book, and then hid two stones that tell where the book is.”

Cantor stared at Dukmee.
How can he be pleased with this information? Lymens are due to invade, and we have no defense. Now we have to go chasing around after two stones? And the two stones aren’t even the goal but tell us another place to chase down?

So far, being a realm walker reminded him of a dog chasing his tail. The dog seemed to enjoy the activity, but nothing was ever gained.

Light flashing off the shiny bits of Chomountain’s magnificent robe announced his arrival through the back door, with Neekoh close behind. He stopped to survey the room. Holding the lapels of his robe at his chest, he looked to be a man sure of himself and the authority he could wield, yet
enough of Old Trout’s demeanor remained to keep him from appearing pompous.

“Ah, a quest! Nothing more invigorating than having a quest as the first step in a venture to save the world. A quest should be the beginning of every endeavor.”

The right hand of Primen looked intently at the three men with him. “Don’t you agree, Neekoh?”

“Yes, sir.” The former guardian of Chomountain bobbed his head to emphasize his agreement.

“But, gentlemen, I must inform you,” said Cho in his most authoritative tone, “Neekoh will not be going with us.”

Cantor stifled a groan.
Now what?

“Neekoh has been promoted to guardian of Bright Valley. Next time I come for a small vacation, my caretaker will have everything in order, just as it is on the day we leave.”

Cantor couldn’t escape his negative reaction to this statement.
Providing the world is still traveling through space, not occupied by Lymens, and not blown up by councilmen. And when is Cho due a vacation? Hasn’t he been off fishing for a thousand years or more?

Cantor stood. “I need to talk to Bridger. Excuse me.”